















Class_ 

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Copyright If. 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 















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BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

9 

The Prince Chap 
The Mallet’s Masterpiece 
Semiramis 
The Spitfire 
A Broken Rosary 




IN THE CABIN’S DOORWAY STOOD YIRGIE AND 
HER FATHER HAND IN HAND. 


















Copyright, 1910, 1911, by 
EDWARD PEPLE 


All Eights Reserved 


Published August, 1911 


4 



THE OUINN A BODEN CO. PRtSS 
Rahway, 14. j. 



© Cl. A 2 9 7 0 3 2 






























Jiebtcateb 

TO 

THE MEMORY OF 


GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE 















































































LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


IN THE CABIN’S DOORWAY STOOD 

VIRGIE AND HER FATHER Frontispiece 


PAGE 


OH, DADDY, WHERE IS IT? 


MIGHT I INQUIRE WHAT YOU ARE 
CALLED ?”. 


THE NORTHERNER STOOD UNMOVED 






































THE LITTLEST REBEL 


I 

It was in the “ war-time,” the darkest, 
bitterest period of it all; when the weak¬ 
ened South was slowly breaking with the 
weight of her brother-foes; when the ar¬ 
mies battled on Virginia soil—battled 
and passed to their final muster-roll. 

Twenty miles south of Richmond, on 
the river banks, lay an old plantation, its 
fences down, its fields neglected and over¬ 
grown with briers and choking weeds. In 
its center, on a hill, sat the blackened 
ruins of a once stately Colonial mansion, 
the chimney still standing, like some 
lonely sentinel who mourned for the r 
peace and plenty of the past. The houses 
[ 1 ] 














THE LITTLEST REBEL 


in the negro quarters had long since dis¬ 
appeared, their timbers consumed by the 
campfires of a passing Union host; yet, 
away to the left, at the bend of a weed- 
grown carriage road, one building was 
left unburned. 

In the old days it had been the cabin 
of an overseer. It had but two rooms, 
and a shallow attic, which was gained by 
means of an iron ladder reaching to a 
closely fitting scuttle in the ceiling. The 
larger room was furnished meagerly with 
a rough deal table, several common 
chairs, and a double-doored cupboard 
against the wall. In the deep, wide fire¬ 
place glowed a heap of raked-up embers, 
on which, suspended from an iron crane, 
a kettle simmered, sadly, as if in grief 
for her long-lost brother pots and pans. 
The plaster on the walls had broken 
away in patches, especially above the 
door, where the sunlight streamed 
[ 2 ] 













THE LITTLEST REBEL 


through the gaping wound from a can¬ 
non shot. The door and window shutters 
were of heavy oak, swinging inward and 
fastening with bars; yet now they were 
open, and through them could be seen a 
dreary stretch of river bottom, withering 
beneath the rays of a July sun. 

Beyond a distant fringe of trees the 
muddy James went murmuring down its 
muddy banks, where the blue cranes 
waited solemnly for the ebbing tide; 
where the crows cawed hoarsely in their 
busy, reeling flight, and the buzzards 
swung high above the marshes. Yet even 
in this waste of listless desolation came 
the echoed boom of heavy guns far 
down the river, where the “ Rebs ” and 
“ Yanks ” were pounding one another 
lazily. 

From the woods which skirted the 
:arriage road a man appeared—a thin, 
worn man, in a uniform of stained and 
[ 3 ] 












THE LITTLEST REBEL 

tattered gray—a man who peered from 
right to left, as a hunted rabbit might, 
then darted across the road and plunged 
into the briery underbrush. Noiselessly 
he made his way to the now deserted 
cabin, creeping, crawling till he reached 
a point below an open window, then 
slowly raised himself and looked within. 

“ Virgie! ” he whispered cautiously. 
“ Virgie! ” 

No answer came. For a moment the 
man leaned dizzily against the window¬ 
sill, his eyes fast closed with a nameless 
dread, till he caught his grip again and 
entered the open door. 

“ Virgie! ” he called, in a louder tone, 
moving swiftly but unsteadily toward the 
adjoining room. He flung its door open 
sharply, almost angrily; yet the name 
on his lips was tender, trembling, as he 
called: “ Virgie! Virgie!” 

In the loneliness of dread, he once more 
[ 4 ] 












THE LITTLEST REBEL 


leaned for support against the wall, won¬ 
dering, listening to the pounding of his 
heart, to the murmur of the muddy 
James, and the fall of a flake of plaster 
loosened by the dull reverberation of a 
distant gun; then suddenly his eye was 
caught by the kettle simmering on the 
fire, and he sighed in swift relief. 

He wiped his brow with a ragged sleeve 
and went to where a water-bucket stood 
behind the door, knelt beside it, drinking 
deeply, gratefully, yet listening the while 
for unwonted sounds and watching the 
bend of the carriage road. His thirst ap¬ 
peased, he hunted vainly through the ta¬ 
ble drawer for balls and powder for the 
empty pistol at his hip; then, instinct¬ 
ively alert to some rustling sound out¬ 
side, he crouched toward the adjoining 
room, slipped in, and softly closed the 
door. 

From the sunlit world beyond the 
[ 5 ] 











THE LITTLEST REBEL 


cabin walls rose the murmur of a child¬ 
ish song, and Yirgie came pattering in. 
She was a tiny thing, a tot of seven, in 
a calico bonnet, and a gingham dress 
which scarcely reached to her little bare, 
brown knees. Her face was delicate, re¬ 
fined, but pale and thin, causing her big 
dark eyes to seem bigger still beneath 
her tumbled hair. In one hand she car¬ 
ried a small tin bucket filled with ber¬ 
ries ; in the other she clutched a doll and 
held it lovingly against her breast. 

This doll was more than an ordinary 
doll; she was a personage—though 
strangely, wonderfully made. To the in¬ 
timate view of the unimaginative, the 
babe was formed from the limb of a ce¬ 
dar tree, the forking branches being legs 
and arms by courtesy, her costume con¬ 
sisting of a piece of rag, tied at the waist 
with a bit of string, and bearing some 
faint resemblance to an infant’s swad- 
[ 6 ] 













THE LITTLEST REBEL 

dling clothes; yet, to the little mother, 
her cedar-tree child was a living, suffer¬ 
ing sharer of her own pathetic fate. 

On a chair at the table Yirgie set her 
doll, then laughed at the hopelessness of 
its breakfasting with any degree of com¬ 
fort, or of ease. 

“ Why, Lord amercy, child, your chin 
don’t come up to the table.” 

On the chair she placed a wooden box, 
perching the doll on top and taking a 
seat herself just opposite. She emptied 
the blackberries into a mutilated plate, 
brought from the cupboard a handful of 
toasted acorns, on which she poured boil¬ 
ing water, then set the concoction aside 
to steep. 

“ Now, Miss Susan Jemima,” said Yir¬ 
gie, addressing her vis-a-vis with the hos¬ 
pitable courtesy due to so great a lady, 

we are goin’ to have some breakfas’.” 
She paused, in a shade of doubt, then 

m 















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


smiled a faint apology: “ It isn’t very 
much of a breakfas’, darlin’, but we’ll 
make believe it’s waffles an’ chicken an’— 
an’ hot rolls an’ batter-bread an’—an’ 
everything.” She rose to her little bare 
feet, holding her wisp of a skirt aside, and 
made a sweeping bow. “ Allow me, Miss 
Jemima, to make you a mos’ delicious 
cup of coffee.” 

And, while the little hostess prepared 
the meal, a man looked out from the 
partly open door behind her, with big 
dark eyes, which were like her own, yet 
blurred by a mist of pity and of love. 

“ Susan,” said the hostess presently, 
“it’s ready now, and we’ll say grace; so 
don’t you talk an’ annoy your mother.” 

The tiny brown head was bowed. The 
tiny brown hands, with their berry - 
stained fingers, were placed on the ta¬ 
ble’s edge; but Miss Susan Jemima sat 
bolt upright, though listening, it seemed, 
[ 8 ] 















THE LITTLEST REBEL 

to the words of reverence falling from a 
mother-baby’s lips: 

“ Lord, make us thankful for the 
blackberries an’ the aco’n coffee an’—an’ 
all our blessin’s; but please, sir, sen’ us 
somethin’ that tastes jus’ a little better— 
if you don’t mind. Amen! ” 

And the man, who leaned against the 
door and watched, had also bowed his 
head. A pain was in his throat—and 
in his heart—a pain that gripped him, 
till two great tears rolled down his 
war-worn cheek and were lost in his 
straggling beard. 

“ Yirgie! ” he whispered hoarsely. 
“ Virgie! ” 

She started at the sound and looked 
about her, wondering; then, as the name 
was called again, she slid from her chair 
and ran forward with a joyous cry: 

“Why, Daddy! Is it you? Is-” 

She stopped, for the man had placed a 
[ 9 ] 














THE LITTLEST REBEL 

finger on his lip and was pointing to the 
door. 

“ Take a look down the road,” he or¬ 
dered, in a guarded voice; and, when she 
had reached a point commanding the 
danger zone, he asked, “ See anybody?— 
soldiers? ” She shook her head. “ Hear 
anything? ” 

She stood for a moment listening, then 
ran to him, and sprang into his waiting 
arms. 

“ It’s all right, Daddy! It’s all right 
now! ” 

He raised her, strained her to his 
breast, his cheek against her own. 

“ My little girl! ” he murmured be¬ 
tween his kisses. “ My little rebel! ” And 
as she snuggled in his arms, her berry- 
stained fingers clasped tightly about his 
neck, he asked her wistfully, “ Did you 
miss me ?—awful much?” 

“ Yes,” she nodded, looking into his 
[ 10 ] 

















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


eyes. “ Yes—in the night time—when 
the wind was talkin’; but, after while, 


when- 


Why, Daddy 


? ” 


gered as he set her down, sinking into a 
chair and closing his eyes as he leaned 
on the table’s edge. “ You are hurt! ” 
she cried. “ I—I can see the blood! ” 

The wounded Southerner braced him¬ 
self. 

“ No, dear, no,” he strove to reassure 
her. “It isn’t anything; only a little 
scratch—from a Yank—that tried to get 
me. But he didn’t, though,” the soldier 
added with a smile. “ I’m just—tired.” 

The child regarded him in wondering 
awe, speaking in a half-breathed whis¬ 
per: 

“ Did he—did he shoot at you? ” 

Her father nodded, with his hand on 









THE LITTLEST REBEL 


more. Get me a drink of water, will 
you?” As Virgie obeyed in silence, re¬ 
turning with the dripping gourd, the man 
went on: “I tried to get here yesterday; 
but I couldn’t. They chased me when 
I came before—and now they’re watch¬ 
ing.” He paused to sip at his draught 
of water, glancing toward the carriage 
road. “ Big fight down the river. Lis¬ 
ten! Can you hear the guns?” 

“ Yes, plain,” she answered, tilting her 
tiny head. “ An’ las’ night, when I went 
to bed, I could hear ’em—oh! ever so 
loud: Boom! Boom! Boom-boom! So 
I knelt up an’ asked the Lord not to let 
any of ’em hit you.” 

Two arms, in their tattered gray, 
slipped round the child. He kissed her, 
in that strange, fierce passion of a man 
who has lost his mate, and his grief-torn 
love is magnified in the mite who reflects 
her image and her memory. 

[ 12 ] 









THE LITTLEST REBEL 


“ Did you, honey? ” he asked, with a 
trembling lip. “ Well, I reckon that 
saved your daddy, for not one shell 
touched him—no, not one! ” He kissed 
her again, and laughed, “ And I tell you, 
Virgie, they were coming as thick as 
bees.” 

Once more he sipped at the grateful, 
cooling draught of water, when the child 
asked suddenly: 

“ How is Gen’ral Lee? ” 

Down came the gourd upon the table. 
The Southerner was on his feet, with a 
stiffened back; and his dusty slouch hat 
was in his hand. 

“ He’s well; God bless him! Well!” 

The tone was deep and tender, proud, 
but as reverent as the baby’s prayer for 
her father’s immunity from harm; yet 
the man who spoke sank back into his 
seat, closing his eyes and repeating 
slowly, sadly: 


[ 13 ] 















“ He’s well; God bless him! But he’s 
tired, darling—mighty tired.” 

“ Daddy,” the soldier’s daughter asked, 
“ will you tell him somethin’—from 
me? ” 

“ Yes, dear. What?” 

“ Tell him,” said the child, with a 
thoughtful glance at Miss Susan Jemima 
across the table, “ tell him, if he ever 
marches along this way, I’ll come over 
to his tent and rub his head, like I do 
yours—if he’ll let me—till he goes to 
sleep.” She clasped her fingers and 
looked into her father’s eyes, hope¬ 
fully, appealingly. “ Do you think he 
would, if—if I washed my hands—real 
clean? ” 

The Southerner bit his lip and tried 
to smile. 

“ Yes, honey, I know he would! And 
think! He sent a message—to you” 

“ Did he? ” she asked, wide-eyed, 
[ 14 ] 








THE LITTLEST REBEL 


flushed with happiness. “ What did he 
say, Daddy? What? ” 

“ He said,” her father answered, tak¬ 
ing her hands in his: “ ‘ She’s a brave lit¬ 
tle soldier, to stay there all alone. Dixie 
and I are proud of her ! 9 99 

“ Oh, Daddy, did he? Did he?” 

“ Yes, dear, yes,” the soldier nodded; 
“ his very words. And look! ” From 
his boot leg he took a folded paper and 
spread it on his knee. “ He wrote you 
a pass—to Richmond. Can you read 
it? ” 




Virgie leaned against her father’s 
shoulder, studying the paper long and 
earnestly; then, presently looked up, 
with a note of grave but courteous hesi¬ 
tation in her tone: 

“ Well—he—well, the Gen’ral writes 
a awful bad hand, Daddy.” 

Her father laughed in genuine delight, 
vowing in his heart to tell his general 
[ 15 ] 













THE LITTLEST REBEL 


and friend of this crushing criticism, if 
ever the fates of war permitted them to 
meet again. 

“ Dead right! ” he agreed, with hearty 
promptness. “ But come, I’ll read it for 
you. Now then. Listen: 

“ Headquarters of the Army of Northern Va. 

“ Pass Virginia Cary and escort through all Con¬ 
federate lines and give safe-conduct wherever 
possible. 

“R. E. Lee, General .” 

There was silence for a moment, then 
Virgie looked up, with tears in her eyes 
and voice. 

“ An’ he did that-—for little me? Oh, 
Daddy, I love him so much, it—it makes 
me want to cry.” 

She hid her face on the coat of gray, 
and sobbed; while her father stroked her 
hair and answered soothingly, but in a 
tone of mourning reverie: 

[ 16 ] 

















THE LITTLEST REBEL 

“ So do we all, darling; big grown 
men, who have suffered, and are losing 
all they love. They are ragged—and 
wounded—hungry—and, oh, so tired! 
But, when they think of him, they draw 
up their belts another hole, and say, 
‘For General Lee!’ And then they can 
fight and fight and fight—till their hearts 
stop beating—and the god of battles 
writes them a bloody pass! ” 

Again he had risen to his feet. He 
was speaking proudly, in the reckless 
passion of the yet unconquered South¬ 
erner, though half-unconscious of the tot 
who watched him, wondering. But she 
came to him now, taking his hand in both 
her own, and striving to bring him com¬ 
fort from the fountain of her little 
mother-heart. 

“ Don’t you worry, Daddy-man. We’ll 
-weTl whip ’em yet.” 

“ No, dear—no,” he sighed, as he 
[ 17 ] 













THE LITTLEST REBEL 


dropped into his seat. “ We won’t. It’s 
hard enough on men; but harder still on 
children such as you.” He turned to 
her gravely, earnestly: “ Virgie, I had 
hoped to get you through to Richmond 
—to-day. But I can’t. The Yankees 
have cut us off. They are up the river 
and down the river—and all around us. 
I’ve been nearly the whole night getting 
here; creeping through the woods—like 
an old Molly-cotton-tail—with the blue 
boys everywhere, waiting to get me if I 
showed my head.” 

“ But they didn’t, did they? ” said Vir- 
gie, laughing at his reference to the wise 
old rabbit and feeling for the pockets of 
his shabby coat. “ Did you—did you 
bring me anything? ” 

At her question the man cried out as y 
if in pain, then reached for her in a wave 
of yearning tenderness. 

“ Listen, dear; I—I had a little bun- 
[ 18 ] 
















THE LITTLEST REBEL 

die for you—of—of things to eat.” He 
took her by the arms, and looked into 
her quaint, wise face. “ And I was so 
glad I had it, darling, for you are thin¬ 
ner than you were.” He paused to 
bite his lip, and continued haltingly, 
“ There was bread in that bundle— 
and meat—real meat—and sugar—and 
tea.” 

Virgie released herself and clapped 
her hands. 

“Oh, Daddy, where is it?” she asked 
him happily, once more reaching for the 
pocket. “ ’Cause I’m so hungry for 
somethin’ good.” 

“ Don’t! Don’t! ” he cried, as he drew 
his coat away, roughly, fiercely, in the 
pain of unselfish suffering. “ For God’s 
sake, don’t! ” 

“ Why, what is it, Daddy,” she asked, 
in her shrillness of a child’s alarm, her 
eyes on the widening stain of red above 
[ 19 ] 














THE LITTLEST REBEL 

his waist. “ Is—is it hurtin’ you again? 
What is it, Daddy-man? ” 

“ Your bundle,” he answered, in the 
flat, dull tone of utter hopelessness. “ I 
lost it, Yirgie. I lost it.” 

“ Oh,” she said, with a quaver of dis¬ 
appointment, which she vainly strove to 
hide. “ How did you do it? ” 

For a moment the man leaned limply 
against a chair-back, hiding his eyes with 
one trembling hand; then he spoke in 
shamed apology: 

“I—I couldn’t help it, darling; be¬ 
cause, you see, I hadn’t any powder left; 
and I was coming through the woods— 
just as I told you—when the Yanks got 
sight of me.” He smiled dow 7 n at her 
bravely, striving to add a dash of com¬ 
edy to his tragic plight. “ And I tell 
,you, Virgie, your old dad had to run like 
a turkey—wishing to the Lord he had 
wings, too.” 


[ 20 ] 













THE LITTLEST REBEL 

Virgie did not smile in turn, and her 
father dropped back into his former tone, 
his pale lips setting in a straight, hard 
line. 

“ And then—the blue boy I was tell¬ 
ing you about—when he shot at me, I 
must have stumbled, because, when I 
scrambled up, I—I couldn’t see just 
right; so I ran and ran, thinking of you, 
darling, and wanting to get to you be¬ 
fore—well, before it was breakfast time. 
I had your bundle in my pocket; but 
when I fell—why, Virgie, don’t you see? 
—I—I couldn’t go back and find it.” He 
paused to choke, then spoke between his 
teeth, in fury at a strength which had 
failed to breast a barrier of fate: “ But 
I would have gone back, if I'd had any 
powder left. I would! By God, I 
iwould! ” 

A pitiful apology it was, from a man 
to a little child; a story told only in its 
[ 21 ] 









THE LITTLEST REBEL 

hundredth part, for why should he give 
its untold horrors to a baby’s ears? How 
could she understand that man-hunt in 
the early dawn? The fugitive—with an 
empty pistol on his hip—wading swamps 
and plunging through the tangled under¬ 
brush; alert and listening, darting from 
tree to tree where the woods were thin; 
crouching behind some fallen log to catch 
his laboring breath, then rising again to 
creep along his way. He did not tell of 
the racking pain in his weary legs, nor 
the protest of his pounding heart—the 
strain—the agony—the puffs of smoke 
that floated above the pines, and the ping 
of bullets whining through the trees. He 
did not tell of the ball that slid along 
his ribs, leaving a fiery, aching memory 
behind, as the man crashed down a clay 
bank, to lie for an instant in a crumpled 
heap, to rise and stumble on—not to¬ 
ward the haven of his own Confederate 
[ 22 ] 











lines, but forward, to where a baby 
waited—through a dancing mist of red. 

And so the soldier made his poor 
apology, turning his head aw r ay to avoid 
a dreaded look in Virgie’s big, reproach¬ 
ful eyes; then he added one more lash- 
w r elt to his shame: 

“ And now your poor old daddy is no 
more use to you. I come to my little girl 
with empty hands—with an empty gun 
—and an empty heart! ” 

He said it bitterly, in the self-accusing 
sorrow of his soul; and his courage, 
wdiich had borne him through a hell of 
suffering, now broke; but only when a 
helper of the helpless failed. He laid his 
outflung arms across the table. He bow r ed 
his beaten head upon them and sobbed 
aloud, with sobs that shook him to his 


Jr 














THE LITTLEST REBEL 


who, like a hundred thousand of her sis¬ 
ters, brought comfort in the blackest 
hours. The Daughters of the South! A 
crutch—on which the staggering hopes 
of Dixie leaned. 

One tiny, weak arm was slipped about 
his neck. One tiny brown hand, with its 
berry-stained fingers, was run through 
his tangled hair, softly, tenderly, even 
as she longed to soothe the weary head 
of General Lee. 

“ Don’t cry, Daddy-man,” she mur¬ 
mured in his ear; “ it’s all right. / can 
eat the blackberries. They—they don't 
taste so awful good when you have ’em 
all the time; but I don’t mind.” She 
paused to kiss him, then tried once more 
to buoy his hope and hers. “ We’ll have 
jus’ heaps of things when we get to Rich- 
mon’—jus’ heaps—an’ then-” 

She stopped abruptly, lifting her head 
and listening, in the manner of a sheep 
[ 24 ] 
















THE LITTLEST REBEL 




dog scenting danger from afar. Her fa¬ 
ther looked up sharply and gripped her 
hands. 

“ Virgie! You hear —what t ” 

“ Horses! Oh, a lot of ’em! On the 
big road! ” 

It was true, for down the breeze came 
the faintly echoed thud of many hoofs 
and the clinking jingle of sabers against 
the riders’ thighs. Virgie turned back 
from the open door. 

“ Why—why, they’ve turned into our 
road! ” Her breath came fast, as she 
sank her voice to a faint, awed whis¬ 
per, “ Daddy—do you reckon it’s— 
Yankees f ” 

66 Yes,” said her father, who had risen 
to his feet. “ Morrison’s cavalry! They 
won’t hurt you; but I’ll have to get to 














THE LITTLEST REBEL 


for the door, but shrank into the shadow 
at sight of a blue-clothed watcher sharply 
outlined on the crest of a distant rise. 
Escape was cut off, and the hunted sol¬ 
dier turned to Virgie in his need. 

“ Shut the door—quick! ” She obeyed 
in silence. “ Lock it! ” She turned the 
rusty key, and waited. “ Now the win¬ 
dows! Hurry, but do it quietly.” 

She closed the clumsy shutters and set 
the heavy bars into their slots; then the 
man came forward, knelt down before 
her, and took her hands. 

“ Listen, Virginia,” he whispered ear¬ 
nestly ; “ don’t you remember how your 
dear, dear mother—and I, too, darling— 
always told you never to tell a lie? ” 

“ An’ I haven’t, Daddy-man,” she pro¬ 
tested, wondering. “ ’Deed, an’ ’deed, I 

^haven’t. Why-” 

“ Yes, yes, I know,” he interrupted hur¬ 
riedly; “ but now —you must!” As the 
[ 26 ] 











THE LITTLEST REBEL 

child stepped backward and tried to 
draw away, lie clasped her hands more 
tightly still. “ But listen, dear; it’s to 
save me! Don’t you understand?—and 
it’s right! When those men come, they 
mustn’t find me. Say I was here, but 
I’ve gone. If they ask which way, tell 
them I went down past the spring— 
through the blackberry patch. Do you 
understand?—and can you remember?” 
She nodded gravely, and the Southerner 
folded her tightly in his arms. “ Be a 
brave little rebel, honey —for me! ” 

He released her and began to mount 
the ladder leading to the scuttle in the 
ceiling; but halfway up he paused, as 
Virgie checked him with a solemn ques¬ 
tion : 

“ Daddy—would Gen’ral Lee want me 
to tell that lie? ” 

“ Yes, dear,” he answered slowly, 
thoughtfully; “ this once! And, if ever 
[ 27 ] 











THE LITTLEST REBEL 




Jj 




you see him, ask him, and he’ll tell you 
so himself. God help you, darling; it’s 
for General Lee—and you!” 

The littlest rebel sighed, as though a 
weight had been lifted from her mind, 
and she cocked her head at the sound of 
louder hoof-beats on the carriage road. 

“ All right, Daddy-man. I’ll tell—a 
whopper! ” 











II 


The man crawled up through the scut¬ 
tle hole and disappeared; then drew the 
ladder after him and closed the trap, 
while Virgie tiptoed to the table and 
slipped into a seat. 

The cabin was now in semi-darkness, 
except for a shaft of sunlight entering 
through the jagged wound from the can¬ 
non-shot above the door; and it fell on 
the quaint, brown head of little Miss 
Virginia Cary, and the placid form of 
Susan Jemima, perching opposite, in se¬ 
rene contempt of the coming of a con¬ 
quering host. 

The jingling clank of sabers grew 
louder to the listeners’ ears, through the 
[ 29 ] 










THE LITTLEST REBEL 


rumble of pounding hoofs; a bugle’s note 
came winnowing across the fields, and 
Virgie leaned forward with a confidential 
whisper to her doll: 

“ Susan Jemima, I wouldn’t tell any¬ 
body else—no, not for anything—but I 
cert’n’y am awful scared! ” 

There came a scurrying rush, a com¬ 
mand to halt, and a rustling, scraping 
noise of dismounting men; a pause, and 
the sharp, loud rap of a saber hilt against 
the door. Virgie breathed hard, but 
made no answer. 

“ Open up! ” called a voice outside, 
but the little rebel closed her lips and 
sat staring at Susan Jemima across the 
table. A silence followed, short, yet 
filled with dread; then came a low-toned 
order and the crash of carbine butts 
the stout oak door. For a time it resis 
hopefully, then slowly its top sagged in, 
with a groaning, grating protest from 
[ 30 ] 













THE L1TTLEST REBEL 


its rusty hinges; it swayed, collapsed in 
a cloud of dust—and the enemy swept 
over it. 

They came with a rush; in the lead an 
officer, young and dashing, a naked sa¬ 
ber in his fist, followed by a squad of 
grim-faced troopers, each with his car¬ 
bine cocked and ready for discharge. 
Yet, as suddenly as they had come, they 
halted now at the sight of a little lady, 
seated at table, eating berries, as calmly 
as though the dogs of war had never 
even growled. 

A wondering silence followed, till 
broken by a piping voice, in grave but 
courteous reproof: 

“ I—I don’t think you are very po¬ 
lite.” 

The officer in command was forced to 
smile. 

“ I’m sorry, my dear,” he apologized;' 
“ but am afraid, this time, I can’t quite 
[ 31 ] 















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


help it.” He glanced at the door of the 
adjoining room and turned to his waiting 
men, though speaking in an undertone: 
“ He’s in there, I guess. Don’t fire if 
you can help it—on account of the baby. 
Now then! Steady, boys! Advance!” 

He led the way, six troopers following, 
while the rest remained behind to guard 
the cabin’s open door. Virgie slowly 
turned her head, with eyes that watched 
the officer’s every move; then presently 
she called: 

“ Hey, there! That’s my room—an’ 
don’t you-all bother any of my things, 
either! ” 

This one command, at least, was im¬ 
plicitly obeyed, for in a moment the dis¬ 
appointed squad returned. The carbine 
butts were grounded; the troopers stood 
at orderly attention, while their officer 
stepped toward the table. 

“ What’s your name, little monkey? ” 
[ 32 ] 










Virgie raised her eyes in swift re¬ 
proach. 

“ I don’t like to be called a monkey. 
It—it isn’t respectful.” 

The Union soldier laughed. 

“ Oho! I see.” He touched his hat 
and made her a sweeping bow. “ A thou¬ 
sand pardons, Mademoiselle.” He shot 
his sword into its scabbard, and laughed 
again. “ Might I inquire as to what you 
are called by your—er—justly respectful 
relatives and friends? ” 

“ Virgie,” she answered simply. 

“ Ah,” he approved, “ and a very 
pretty name! Virgie what?” 

“ My whole name is Miss Virginia 
Houston Cary.” 

The soldier started, glanced at his 
troopers, then back to the child again: 

“ Is Herbert Cary your father?” 

He waited for her answer, and got it, 
straight from a baby’s shoulder: 

[ 33 ] 









THE LITTLEST REBEL 


“ Mister Herbert Cary is—yes, sir.” 

The enemy smiled and made her an¬ 
other bow. 

“ I stand corrected. Where is your fa¬ 
ther now? ” 

Virgie hesitated. 

“ I—I don’t know.” 

The voice of her inquisitor took on a 
sterner tone: 

“ Is he here?—hiding somewhere? Tell 
me! ” 

Her little heart was pounding, horri¬ 
bly, and the hot blood came into her 
cheeks; but she looked him squarely in 
the face, and lied—for General Lee: 

“ No, sir. Daddy was here—but he’s 
gone away.” 

The enemy was looking at her, intently, 
and his handsome, piercing eyes grew 
most uncomfortable. She lmng for an 
instant between success and sobbing fail¬ 
ure, till a bubble from Mother Eve rose 
[ 34 ] 











THE LITTLEST REBEL 

up in her youthful blood and burst into 
a spray of perfect, feminine deceit. She 
did not try to add to her simple state¬ 
ment, but began to eat her berries, 
calmly, as though the subject were com¬ 
pletely closed. 

“Which way did he go?” the officer 
demanded, and she pointed with her 
spoon. 

“ Down by the spring—through the 
blackberry patch.” 

The soldier was half-convinced. He 
stood for a moment, looking at the floor, 
then asked her sharply, suddenly: 

“If your father had gone, then why 
did you lock that door? ” 

She faltered, but only for an instant. 

“ ’Cause I thought you might be— nig¬ 
gers.” 

The man before her clenched his hands, 
*as he thought of that new-born, hideous 
danger menacing the South. 

[ 35 ] 















“ I see,’’ lie answered gently; “ yes, I 
see.” He turned away, but, even as he 
turned, his eye was caught by the double¬ 
doored cupboard against the wall. 
“ What do you keep in there? ” he asked; 
and the child smiled faintly, a trifle 
sadly, in reply: 

“ We used to keep things to eat—when 
we had any.” 

He noted her mild evasion, and pushed 
his point. 

“ What is in it now? ” 

“ Tin pans.” 

“ Anything else? ” 

“ Er—yes, sir.” 

He caught his breath and stepped a 
little nearer, bending till his face was 
close to hers. 

“ What? ” 

















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


The officer laughed as he turned to his 
grinning squad. 

“ Bright little youngster! Still, I 
think we’ll have a look.” He dropped 
his air of amusement, growing stern 
again. “ Now, men! Ready!” 

They swung into line and faced the 
cupboard, the muzzles of their carbines 
trained upon it, while their leader ad¬ 
vanced, swung open the doors, and 
quickly stepped aside. 

On the bottom shelf, as Virgie had de¬ 
clared, were a few disconsolate tin pans; 
yet tacked to the door was a picture 
print of Mosby—that dreaded guerrilla 
whose very name was a bugaboo in the 
Union lines. 

The littlest rebel flung back her head 
and laughed. 

“ My, but you looked funny! ” she said 
to the somewhat disconcerted officer, 
pointing at him with her spoon. “ If a 
[ 37 ] 















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


mouse had jumped out, I reckon it would 
have scared you mos’ to death.” 

The young man’s cheeks flushed red, 
in spite of his every effort at control; 
nor was he assisted by the knowledge 
that his men were tittering behind his 
back. He turned upon them sharply. 

“ That will do,” he said, and gave a 
brusque command: “ Corporal, deploy 
your men and make a thorough search 
outside. Examine the ground around 
the spring—and report! ” 

“ Yis, sor,” returned the Corporal, sa¬ 
luting and dropping his hand across his 
mouth to hide a grin of involuntary in¬ 
subordination; then he snarled at his 
men, though his little blue, Irish eyes 
were twinkling: “’Tention! Right face! 
Forward ! Marcli! ” 

The squad trooped out across the 
broken door, leaving their commanding 
officer alone with his rebel prisoner. 

[ 38 ] 














THE LITTLEST REBEL 

“ Now, Virgie,” he asked, in a kindly 
tone, though holding her eyes with his, 
“ do you mean to tell me—cross your 
heart—that you are here, just by your¬ 
self? ” 

“ Er—no, sir.” As he opened his lips 
to speak, she pointed to her doll. “ Me 
an’ Susan Jemima.” 

“ Well, that’s a fact,” he laughed. 
“ Hanged if Fm not losing all my social 
polish.” He gallantly removed his hat, 
bowed gravely to the cedar stick, and 
shook its hand. “ Charmed to make your 
acquaintance, Miss Susan, believe me. 
My own name is Morrison—Lieutenant- 
Colonel Morrison—at your service—and 
your mother’s.” He turned to the little 
mother with a smile that showed a row 
of white and even teeth. “ And now,” 
he said, “ since we are all informally in¬ 
troduced, suppose we have a quiet, com¬ 
fortable chat.” He paused, but she made 
[391 











i. 

V 


THE LITTLEST REBEL 

no answer. “Well? Aren’t you going 
to ask me to have some breakfast? ” 
Virgie cast a troubled gaze into the 
plate before her. 

“ Er—no, sir.” 

“What? Why not?” 

She faltered, and answered slowly: 

“ ’Cause—’cause you’re one of the 
damn Yankees.” 

“ Oh! oh! oh! ” exclaimed the soldier, 
shocked to hear a baby’s lips profaned. 
“ Little girls shouldn’t use such words. 
Why, Virgie!” 

She raised her eyes, clear, fearless, 
filled with vindicating innocence. 

“ Well, it’s your name, isn’t it? Every¬ 
body calls you that.” 

“ Um—-yes,” he admitted, striving to 
check the twitching of his lips; “ I sup¬ 
pose they do—south of Washington. But 
don’t you know we are just like other 
people?” She shook her head. “Oh, 
[ 40 ] 



















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


yes, we are. Why, / have a little 
girl at home—not any bigger than 
you.” 

“ Have you? ” asked Yirgie, her bud¬ 
ding racial prejudice at war with youth¬ 
ful curiosity. “ What’s her name?” 

“ Gertrude,” he answered softly, ten¬ 
derly. “ Gertrude Morrison. Would 
you like to see her picture? ” 

“ Yes,” said the little rebel, and 
stepped across the gulf which had lain 
between her and her enemy. “ You can 
sit down if you want to. Jus* put Susan 
Jemima on the table.” 

“ Thank you,” returned her visitor, 
obeying instructions, seating himself and 
loosening the upper buttons of his coat. 
On his neck, suspended by a chain, was 
a silver locket containing the miniature 
of a plump and pretty child. It had lain 
there since the war began, through many 
a bivouac, many a weary march, and 
[ 41 ] 









THE LITTLEST REBEL 

even in the charge he could feel it tap¬ 
ping against his breast; so now, as he 
held it out to Virgie, the father’s hand 
was trembling. 

“ There she is. My Gertrude—my lit¬ 
tle Gertrude.’’ 

Virgie leaned forward eagerly. 

“ Oh! ” she said, in unaffected admira¬ 
tion. “ She’s mighty pretty. She’s-” 

The child stopped suddenly, and raised 
her eyes. “ An’ she’s fat, too. I reckon 
Gertrude gets lots to eat, doesn’t 
she? ” 

“ Why, yes,” agreed the father, think¬ 
ing of his comfortable Northern home; 
“ of course. Don’t you? ” 

Virgie weighed the question thought¬ 
fully before she spoke. 

“ Sometimes—when Daddy gets through 
the lines and brings it to me.” 

The soldier started violently, wrenched 
back from the selfish dream of happiness 
[ 42 ] 















THE LITTLEST REBEL 

that rose as he looked at the picture of 
his child. 

“ What! Is that why your father 
comes? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Good God!” 

He rose to his feet and turned away, 
his thoughts atumble, a pang of parental 
pity gnawing at his heart; then he 
wheeled and faced her, asking, with a 
break in his husky voice: 

“ And at other times—what do you 
eat, then?” 

She made a quaint, depreciating ges¬ 
ture toward the appointments of her 
breakfast table. 

“ Blackberries—an’—an’ coffee made 
out of aco’ns.” 

Again the troubled conqueror turned 
away. 

“ Oh, it’s a shame! ” he muttered be¬ 
tween his teeth. “ A hellish shame! ” 
[ 43 ] 










THE LITTLEST REBEL 



r 


He stood for a moment, silently, till 
Virgie spoke and jarred him with another 
confidence. 

“ My cousin Norris told me that the 
Yankees have bread every day; an’ tea— 
an’ milk—an’ everything. An? butter! ” 
This last-named article of common 
diet was mentioned with an air of rever¬ 
ential awe; and, somehow, it hurt the 
well-fed Union officer far more than 
had she made some direct accusation 
against the invading armies of the 


North. 

“ Don’t, Virgie—please,” he murmured 
softly. “ There are some things we just 
can’t bear to listen to—even in times of 
war.” He sighed and dropped into his 
former seat, striving gently to change 
the subject. “ You have lived here—al¬ 
ways? ” 

“ Oh, no,” she assured him, with a lift 
her small, patrician brows. “ This is 













the overseer’s house. Our house used to 
be up ou the hill, in the grove.” 

“ Used to be-? ” 

“ Yes, sir. But—but the Yankees 

burnt it up.” 

Morrison’s fist came down on the table 
with a crash. For a moment he sat in 
silence, frowning at the floor, then spoke, 
without looking up: 

“ Tell me about it. Won’t you? ” 

She nodded, wriggled from her chair, 
and stood beside the table. 

“ Oh, it was a long time ago—a month, 
maybe—an’ they came in the night time. 
Mamma an’ me were all by ourselves— 
’ceptin’ one colored girl, name’ Sally Ann. 
An’ we were dreadful scared—an’ we hid 
in the woods, all night—an’—an’ it 
rained.” 

She paused. Her listener had leaned 
his elbow on the table, his hand across 
his eyes. 

[ 45 ] 


■ 












THE LITTLEST REBEL 


“ Yes, dear. Go on.” 

The child had been standing opposite, 
with Susan Jemima and the acorn-coffee 
pot between them; but gradually she be¬ 
gan to edge a little nearer, till presently 
she stood beside him, fingering a shiny 
button on his coat. 

“An’ the blue boys ate up everything 
we had—an’ took our corn. An’ when 
they went away from our house, they— 
a man set it on fire. But another man 
got real mad with him, an’—an’ shot 
him. I know, ’cause mamma an’ Sally 
Ann put him in the ground.” She 
paused, then sank her voice to a whisper 
of mysterious dread, “ An’— an’ I saw 
him! ” 

“ Don’t think about it, Virgie,” begged 
Morrison, slipping his arm about the 
mite, and trying not to put his own 
beloved ones in the little rebel’s 
place. 

[ 46 ]. 











THE LITTLEST REBEL 


Her story, even so simply told, was 
horrible; yet old to the veteran’s ears. 
A detachment foraging for food, descend¬ 
ing like locusts on some country-seat, to 
sweep it bare; the hurried departure; 
some drunken ruffian who applied the 
torch, then paid the penalty with a 
bullet crashing through his brain. It 
was horrible—and worse!—for when the 
morning came, the women crept back 
from the dripping woods, to mourn amid 
the ashes of their all; to bury the man 
who had wrought their desolation and 
despair. 

“Well?” asked Morrison presently. 
“What happened then?” 

“ We came to live here,” said Yirgie; 
“ but mamma got sick. Oh, she got 
terrible sick—an’ one night Daddy 
came through, and put her in the 
ground, too. But he says she’s jus’ 
asleep.” 


[ 47 ] 














THE LITTLEST REBEL 


The soldier drew the baby closer to 
him, stroking her hair, as her sleeping 
mother might have done, and waited for 
the rest. 

“ An’ las’ Friday, Sally Ann went 
away—I don’t know where—an’——” 
“What?” asked Morrison. “She left 
you here—all by yourself? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the child, with a care¬ 
less laugh. “ But I don’t mind. Sally 
Ann was a triflin’ nigger, anyhow. You 


“ But, good Lord, child! ” he inter¬ 
rupted, “ hadn’t you any relatives or 
friends to take you?” 

“ Oh, yes,” she answered; “ ole Mr. 
Spottswood was goin’ to take me, but 
he’s lame, an’ his horse fell down. The 
men an’ the boys are off fightin’—an’— 
1’ some ladies were goin’ to come, 
reckon 













mon’, where my Aunt Margaret lives at, 
but he can’t—’cause the Yankees are up 
the river an’ down the river, an’—an’ 


everywhere—an’ he can’t.” She paused, 
as Morrison turned to her from his rest¬ 
less pacing up and down. “ My, but 
you’ve got fine clo’es! Daddy’s clo’es 
are all rags—with—with holes in ’em.” 


He could not answer. There was 
nothing for him to say, and Virgie 
scorched him with another question: 

“ What did you come after Daddy 
for?” 

“ Oh, not because I wanted to, little 
girl,” he burst out harshly. “ But you 
wouldn’t understand.” He had turned 
away, and was gazing through the open 
door, listening to the muttered wrath of 
the big black guns far down the river. 
u It’s war! One of the hateful, pitiful 
things of war! I came because I had my 
orders.” 


[ 49 ] 

















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


“From your Gen’ral?” 

He lowered his chin, regarding her in 
mild astonishment, 

“ Yes—my General/’ 

“ An’ do you love him —like / love 
Gen’ral Lee? ” 

“ Yes, dear,” he answered earnestly; 
“ of course.” 

He wondered again to see her turn 
away in sober thought, tracing lines on 
the dusty floor with one small brown toe; 
for the child was wrestling with a prob¬ 
lem. If a soldier had orders from his 
general, as she herself might put it, “ he 
was hound to come ”; but still it was 
hard to reconcile such duty with the cap¬ 
ture of her father. Therefore, she raised 
her tiny chin and resorted to tactics of 
purely personal nature: 

“ An’ didn’t you know, if you hurt 
my Daddy, I’d tell Uncle Fitz Lee on 


you 




[ 50 ] 













“ No,” the Yankee 
your uncle? ” 

The littlest rebel regarded him with a 
look of positive pity for his ignorance. 

“ He’s everybody's uncle,” she stated 
warmly. “ An’ if I was to tell him, he’d 
come right after you an’—an’ lick the 
stuffin’s out of you.” 

The soldier laughed. 

“ My dear,” he confided, with a dancing 
twinkle in his eye, “ to tell you the hon¬ 
est truth, your Uncle Fitz has done it 
already —several times.” 

“ Has he? ” she cried, in rapturous de¬ 
light. “ Oh, has he? ” 

“ He has,” the enemy repeated, with 
vigor and conviction. “ But suppose we 
shift our conversation to matters a shade 
more pleasant. Take you, for instance. 

You see-” He stopped abruptly, 

turning his head and listening with keen 
intentness. “ What’s that? ” he asked. 

[ 51 ] 

















THE LITTLE ST REBEL 


“ I didn’t hear anything,” said Virgie, 
breathing very fast; but she too had 
heard it—a sound above them, a scrap¬ 
ing sound, as of someone lying flat along 
the rafters and shifting his position; and, 
while she spoke, a tell-tale bit of plaster 
fell, and broke as it struck the floor. 

Morrison looked up, starting as he saw 
the outlines of the closely fitting scuttle, 
for the loft was so low and shallow that 
he had not suspected its presence from 
an outside view; but now he was certain 
of the fugitive’s hiding-place. Virgie 
watched him, trembling, growing hot in 
the pit of her little stomach; yet, wdien 
he faced her, she looked him squarely in 
the eye, fighting one last battle for her 
Daddy—as hopeless as the tottering 
cause of the Stars and Bars. 

“ You—you don’t think he can fly, do 
you? ” 

“ No, little Rebel,” the soldier an- 
[ 52 ] 













swered gently, sadly; “ but there are 
other ways.” He glanced at the table, 
measuring its height with the pitch of 
the ceiling, then turned to her again: “ Is 
your father in that loft? ” She made no 
answer, but began to back away. “ Tell 
me the truth. Look at me!” Still no 
answer, and he took a step toward her, 
speaking sternly: “ Do you hear me? 
Look at me! ” 

She tried; but her courage was oozing 
fast. She had done her best, but now 
it was more than the mite could stand; 
so she bit her lip to stop its quivering, 
and turned her head away. For a mo¬ 
ment the man stood, silent, wondering if 
it was possible that the child had been 
coached in a string of lies to trade 
upon his tenderness of heart; then he 
spoke, in a voice of mingled pity and 
















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


the rest—is a story, too. Oh, Virgie! 
Virgie! ” 

“ I didn’t! ” she cried, the big tears 
breaking out at last. “ I didn’t tell you 
stories! Only jus’ a little one—for Daddy 
—an’ Gen’ral Lee.” 

She was sobbing now, and the man 
looked down upon her in genuine com¬ 
passion, his own eyes swimming at her 
childish grief, his soldier heart athrob 
and aching at the duty he must perform. 

“ I’m sorry, dear,” he sighed, removing 
her doll and dragging the table across 
the floor to a point directly beneath the 
scuttle in the ceiling. 

“ What are you goin' to do? ” she 
asked in terror, following as he moved. 
“ Oh, what are you goin’ to do? ” 

He did not reply. He could not; but 
when he placed a chair upon the table and 
prepared to mount, then Virgie under¬ 
stood. 

[54] 














“ You shan’t! You shan’t! ” she cried 
out shrilly. “ He’s my Daddy—and you 
shan’t! ” 

She pulled at the table, and when he 
would have put her aside, as gently as he 
could, she attacked him fiercely, in a 
childish storm of passion, sobbing, strik¬ 
ing at him with her puny fists. The sol¬ 
dier bowed his head and moved away. 

“ Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” he breathed, 
in conscience-stricken pain. “ There must 
be some other way; and still-” 

He stood irresolute, gazing through 
the open door, watching his men as they 
hunted for a fellow man; listening to the 
sounds that floated across the stricken 
fields—the calls of his troopers; the lo¬ 
custs in the sun-parched woods chanting 
their shrill, harsh litany of drought; but 
more insistent still came the muffled 
boom of the big black guns far down the 
muddy James. They called to him, these 
[ 55 ] 


















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


guns, in the hoarse-tongued majesty of 
war, bidding him forget himself, his love, 
his pity—all else, but the grim command 
to a marching host—a host that must 
reach its goal, though it marched on a 
road of human hearts. 

The soldier set his teeth and turned 
to the little rebel, deciding on his course 
of action; best for her, best for the man 
who lay in the loft above, though now 
it must seem a brutal cruelty to both. 

“ Well, Virgie,” he said, “ since you 
haven’t told me what I want to know, I’ll 
have to take you—and give you to the 
Yankees.” 

He stepped toward her swiftly and 
caught her by the wrist. She screamed 
in terror, fighting to break his hold, while 
the trap above them opened, and the head 
and shoulders of the Southerner ap¬ 
peared, his pistol held in his outstretched 












THE NORTHERNER STOOD UNMOVED AS HE 
LOOKED INTO THE PISTOL’S MUZZLE. 








“ Drop it, you hound! ” he ordered 
fiercely. “ Drop it! ” 

The Northerner released his captive, 
but stood unmoved as he looked into the 
pistol’s muzzle and the blazing eyes of 
the cornered scout. 

“ I’m sorry,” he said, in quiet dignity. 
“ I’m very sorry; but I had to bring you 
out.” He paused, then spoke again: 
“ And you needn’t bother about your gun. 
If you’d had any ammunition, our fire 
would have been returned, back yonder 
in the woods. The game’s up, Cary. 
Come down! ” 











Ill 





The head and shoulders disappeared. 
A short pause followed, then the ladder 
came slowly down, and the Southerner 
descended, while Virgie crouched, a sob¬ 
bing little heap, beside her doll. But 
when he reached the bottom rung, she 
rose to her feet and ran to meet him, 
weeping bitterly. 


“ Oh, Daddy, Daddy, I didn’t do it 
right! I didn’t do it right! ” 


She buried her head in his tattered 


coat, while he slipped an arm about 
her and tried to soothe a sorrow 


too great for such a tiny heart U 
bear. 


“ But you did do it right,” he told her. 



[ 58 ] 












THE LITTLEST REBEL 

“It was my fault. Mine! My leg got 
cramped, and I had to move.” He 
stooped and kissed her. “ It was my 
fault, honey; but you?—you did it splen¬ 
didly! ” He patted her tear-stained cheek, 
then turned to his captor, with a grim, 
hard smile of resignation to his fate. 
“ Well, Colonel, you’ve had a long chase 
of it; but you’ve gotten my brush at 
last.” 

The Union soldier faced him, speaking 
earnestly: 

“ Mr. Cary, you’re a brave man—and 
one of the best scouts in the Confederate 
army. I regret this happening—more 
than I can say.” The Southerner 
shrugged his shoulders. His Northern 
captor asked: “ Are you carrying dis¬ 
patches? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Any other papers?—of any kind? ” 
No answer came, and he added sternly: 

[ 59 ] 











THE LITTLEST REBEL 

“ It is quite useless to refuse. Give them 
to me.” 

He held out his hand, but his captive 
only looked him in the eyes; and the an¬ 
swer, though spoken in an undertone, 
held a world of quiet meaning: 

“ You can take it— afterwards.” 

The Federal officer bit his lip; and yet 
he could not, would not, be denied. 
His request became demand, backed by 
authority and the right of might, till Vir- 
gie broke in, in a piping voice of indig¬ 
nation : 

“ You can’t have it! It’s mine! My 
pass to Richmon’—from Gen’ral Lee.” 

Morrison turned slowly from the little 
rebel to the man. 

“ Is this true? ” he asked. 

The Southerner flushed, and 



produced the rumpled paper 


boot leg, and handed it over wdthout a 
word. The Northerner read it carefully. 
[ 60 ] 























“ Pass Virginia Cary and escort through all Con¬ 
federate lines and give safe-conduct wherever 
possible. 

“R. E. Lee, General.” 

The reader crushed the paper in his 
fist, while his hand sank slowly to his 
side, then he raised his head and asked, 
in a voice which was strangely out of 
keeping with a Lieutenant-Colonel of the 
Union Cavalry: 

“ And who was to be her escort? 
You? ” 

The captive nodded, smiling his sad, 
grim smile; and the captor swallowed 
hard as he moved to the cabin door and 
stood listening to the muttered rumble 
of the river guns. 

“ I’m sorry, Cary,” he whispered bro¬ 
kenly ; “ more sorry than you can under-, 
stand.” 

For a long time no one spoke, thei 
the Southerner went to Yirgie, dropping 
[ 61 ] 












THE LITTLEST REBEL 


his hand in tenderness on her tumbled 
hair. 

“Just go into your room, honey; I 
want to talk to Colonel Morrison.” She 
looked up at him doubtfully; but he 
added, with a reassuring smile: “ It’s all 
right, darling. I’ll call you in just a 
minute.” 

Still Virgie seemed to hesitate. She 
shifted her doubting eyes toward the 
Union officer, turned, and obeyed in si¬ 
lence, closing the door of the adjoining 
room behind her. Then the two men 
faced each other, without the hampering 
presence of the child, each conscious of 
the coming tragedy that both, till now, 
had striven manfully to hide. The one 
moved forward toward a seat, staggering 
as he walked, and catching himself on 
the table’s edge, while the other’s hand 
went out to lend him aid; but the South¬ 
erner waved him off. 

[ 62 ] 











THE LITTLEST REBEL 


“ Thank you,” he said, as he sank into 
a chair. “ I don’t want help—from you! ” 
“ Why not? ” asked Morrison. 

“ Because,” said Cary, in sullen anger, 
“ I don’t ask quarter, nor aid, from a 
man who frightens children.” 

The Northerner’s chin went up; and 
when he replied his voice was trembling; 
not in passion, but with a deeper, finer 
something which had gripped his admi¬ 
ration for the courage of a child: 

“ And I wouldn’t hurt a hair of her 
splendid little head! ” He paused, then 
spoke again, more calmly: “ You thought 
me a beast to frighten her; but don’t you 
know it was the only thing to do? Other¬ 
wise my men might have had to shoot 
you—before her eyes.” Cary made no 
answer, though now he understood; and 
Morrison went on: “It isn’t easy for me 
to track a fellow creature down; to take 
him when he’s wounded, practically un- 
[ 63 ] 














THE L1TTLEST REBEL 


armed, and turn him over to a firing 
squad. But it’s war, my friend—one of 
the merciless realities of war—and you 
ought to know the meaning of its name.” 

“ Yes, I know,” returned the South¬ 
erner, with all the pent-up bitterness of 
a hopeless struggle and defeat; “ it has 
taken three years to teach me —and I 
know! Look at me!” he cried, as he 
stood up in his rags and spread his arms. 
“ Look at my country, swept as bare as 
a stubble field! You’ve whipped us, 
maybe, with your millions of money and 
your endless men, and now you are war¬ 
ring with the women and the children! ” 
He turned his back and spoke in the deep 
intensity of scorn: “ A fine thing, 

Colonel! And may you get your reward 
—in hell!” 

The Northerner set his lips in a thin, 
cold line; but curbed his wrath and an¬ 
swered the accusation quietly: 

[641 












THE LITTLEST REBEL 


“ There are two sides to the question, 
Cary; but there must be one flag!” 

“ Then fly your flag in justice!” the 
Southerner retorted hotly, wheeling on 
his enemy, with blazing eyes and with 
hands that shook in the stress of pas¬ 
sion. “ A while ago you called me a 
brave man and a good scout; and, be¬ 
cause I’m both, your people have set a 
price on me. Five hundred dollars— 
alive or dead! ” He laughed; a hoarse, 
harsh travesty of mirth, and added, with 
a lip that curled in withering contempt: 
“ Alive or dead! A gentleman and a 
scout!—for just half the price of one 
good, sound nigger! By God, it makes 
me proud! ” 

Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison looked 
across the table at his prisoner, and an¬ 
swered gravely, yet with a touch of 
sternness in his military tone: 

“ You are more than a scout, Cary. 

[ 65 ] 













THE LITTLEST REBEL 


You’ve carried dispatches, and . inter¬ 
cepted ours; for both of which, if taken, 
you would have been a prisoner of war, 
no more. But you’ve entered our lines— 
not in a uniform of gray, but blue —and 
you’ve cost us the loss of two important 
battles.’ , 

“ And had you done the same,” re¬ 
turned the Southerner, “ for you it would 
have meant promotion. I’ve served my 
cause as best I could; in the saddle or 
the rifle pit; in the woods, or creeping 
through your lines. If I’ve cost you a 
battle, my life is a puny price to pay, 
and I’d pay it without a sigh.” He 
paused and sank into his seat. “ For 
myself, I don’t care much. I’m worn 
out, anyway; and I only wanted to get 
my little girl to Richmond.” At the 
thought of Virgie his anger returned to 
him, and he once more staggered to his 
feet. “ But you,” he accused, “ you’ve 
[ 66 ] 













beaten a baby by the force of arms! 
You’ve run me to earth—and you’ve 
blocked her chance! It’s Yirgie you are 
fighting now—not me—yes, just as if you 
rode her down with a troop of horse! A 
fine thing, Colonel! For you, a brevet! 
For me, a firing squad! Well, call in 
your men and get it over! ” Again he 
smiled; a grim, slow smile of bitterness 
and scorn. “ Bravo, Colonel Morri¬ 
son! Bravo! You add one other glory 
to your conquering sword—and, besides, 
you’ll receive five hundred dollars in 
reward! ” 

The Northerner turned upon him 
fiercely, goaded at last to the breaking- 
point in a struggle as black and awful as 
the struggle of his brother-foe. 

“ Stop it, man! ” he cried. “ For God’s 
sake, stop! It’s duty!—not a miserable 
reward! ” His cheeks were flaming; his 
muscles quivered, and his fists were 
[ 67 ] 









clenched. “ Do you suppose,” he asked, 
“ that I’m proud of this? Do you think 
I’m wringing blood out of your heart and 
mine—for money? Damn you for think¬ 
ing it!” 

They faced each other, two crouching, 
snarling animals, the raw, primeval pas¬ 
sions of their hearts released, each seeing 
through a mist of red; a mist that had 
risen up to roll across a mighty land and 
plunge its noblest sons into a bloody ruck 
of war. 

They faced each other, silently; then 
slowly the features of the Southerner re¬ 
laxed. His bitterness was laid aside. He 
spoke, in the soft, slow accent of his peo- 
!* pie—an accent so impossible to a trick 


of print or pen. 




















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


tie nearer, timidly, as Virgie might have 
done. “ Colonel,” he said, scarce audibly, 
“I ask you just one thing; not for my¬ 
self, but for her—for Virgie. Get the 
poor little tad through your lines, will 
you?—and—and don’t let her know— 
about me ” 

His captor did not answer him in 
words, because of the pain that took him 
by the throat; but his hand went out, till 
it reached another hand that gripped it 
gratefully. 

“ Thank you, Morrison,” said the 
prisoner simply. “ If it wasn’t war 
times——” 

He choked, and said no more; yet si¬ 
lence proved more eloquent than human 
speech. They w T ere men—brave men— 
and both were grateful; the one, because 
an enemy would keep his unspoken word; 
the other, because a doomed man under¬ 
stood. 


[ 69 ] 















IV 


Cary opened the door of his daughter’s 
room and called to her. She came in 
quickly, a question in her big brown eyes. 

“ Daddy,” she said, “ you talked a 
mighty long time. It w T as a heap more 
than jus’ a minute.” 

“Was it?” he asked, and forced a 
smile. “ Well, you see, we had a lot to 
say.” He seated himself and, drawing 
her between his knees, took both her 
hands. “ Now listen, honey; I’m going 

away with this gentleman, and-” He 

stopped as she looked up doubtfully; 
then added a dash of gayety to his tender 
tone: “ Oh, but he invited me. And 
think! He’s coming back for you —to-day 
[ 70 ] 
















THE LITTLEST REBEL 

—to send you up to Richmond. Now, 
isn’t that just fine? ” 

Virgie looked slowly from her father 
to the Union soldier, who stood with 
downcast eyes, his back to them. 

“ Daddy,” she whispered, “ he’s a right 
good Yankee—isn’t he? ” 

“ Yes, dear,” her father murmured 
sadly, and in yearning love for the baby 
he must leave behind; “ yes—lie’s mighty 
good! ” 

He knelt and folded her in his arms, 
kissing her, over and over, while his hand 
went fluttering about her soft brown 
throat; then he wrenched himself away, 
but stood for a lingering instant more, 
his hands outstretched, atremble for a 
last and lingering touch, his heart a 
racing protest at the parting he must 
speak. 

“ Cary! ” 

It was Morrison who spoke, in mercy 
[ 71 ] 















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


for the man; and once more Cary under¬ 
stood. He turned to cross the broken 
door; to face a firing squad in the hot, 
brown woods; to cross the gulf which 
stretched beyond the rumble of the guns 
and the snarling lip of war. But even as 
he turned, a baby’s voice called out, in 
cheerful parting, which he himself had 
failed to speak: 

“ Good-by, Daddy-man. I’ll see you 
up in Riclimon’.” 

The eyes of the two men met and held, 
in the hardest moment of it all; for well 
they knew this hopeful prophecy could 
never be fulfilled. Morrison sighed and 
moved toward the door; but, from its 
threshold, he could see his troopers re¬ 
turning at a trot across the fields. 

“Wait,” he said to Cary; “I’d rather 
my men shouldn’t know I’ve talked with 
you.” He pointed to the scuttle in the 
ceiling. “ Would you mind if I asked 
[ 72 ] 



















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


you to go back again? Hurry! They are 
coming.” 

The captured scout saluted, crossed to 
the ladder, and began to mount. At the 
top he paused to smile and blow a kiss 
to Virgie, then disappeared, drew up the 
ladder after him, and closed the trap. 

The captor stood in silence, waiting for 
his men; yet, while he stood, the little 
rebel pattered to his side, slipping her 
hand in his confidingly. 

“ Mr. Yankee,” she asked, and looked 
up into his face, “are you goin’ to let 
Daddy come to Richmon’, too?” 

Morrison withdrew his hand from hers 
—withdrew it sharply—flung himself 
into a seat beside the table, and began 
to scribble on the back of Virgie’s rum¬ 
pled pass; while the child stood watch¬ 
ing, trusting, w T ith the simple trust of 
her little mother-heart. 

In a moment or two, the troopers came 
[ 73 ] 












THE LITTLEST REBEL 


hurrying in, with Corporal O’Connell in 
the lead. He stood at attention, saluted 
his superior, and made his report of fail¬ 
ure in the search. 

“ Nothin’, sor. No thracks around th’ 
spring, an’ no thraces iv th’ feller anny- 


where; but- 


He stopped. His keen 


eyes marked the changed position of the 
table and followed upward. He saw the 
outlines of the scuttle above his head, 
and smiled. “ But I’m glad to see, 
sor, ye’ve had some betther luck 
yerself.” 

“ Yes, Corporal,” said Morrison, with a 
sharp return of his military tone, “ I 
think I’ve found the fox’s hole at last,” 
He rose and gave his orders briskly. 
“ Push that table forward!—there!—be¬ 
low the trap! Two of you get on it! ” 
He turned to the Corporal, while he him¬ 
self climbed up and stood beside his men. 
“ Light that candle and pass it up to 
[ 74 ] 




















THE LITTLEST REBEL 



“ Now, 


have 


him 


me l 77 The orders were obeyed, 
boys, boost me !- 
out.” 

They raised him, till he pushed the 
trap aside and thrust his head and shoul¬ 
ders through the opening. From below 
they could see him as he waved the 
lighted candle to and fro, and presently 
they heard his voice, that sounded deep 
and muffled in the shallow loft: 

“ All right, boys! You can let me 
down.” 

He slid to the table and sprung lightly 
to the floor, facing his troopers with 
a smile, half-humorous, half in seem¬ 
ing disappointment, as he glanced at 
Yirgie. 

“ I’m afraid the little rebel’s right 
again. He isn’t there!” 

“ Oh! ” cried Yirgie, then clapped her 
hands across her mouth, while the troop¬ 
ers slowly looked from her into the level 
[ 75 ] 
















THE LITTLEST REBEL 

eyes of their commanding officer. He 
stood before them, straight and tall, a 
soldier, every inch of him; and they knew 
that Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison was 
lying like a gentleman. 

But the Corporal knew more. He knew 
that his chief was staking the name and 
title of an honorable soldier against the 
higher, grander title of “ a man.” The 
apple in his Irish throat grew strangely 
large; but not quite large enough to pre¬ 
vent him roaring at his men, in a voice 
which shook the rafters: 

“ ’Tention! Right face! Forward! 
March! ” 

A roistering, childless scalawag was 
Corporal O’Connell, all muscle and bone 
and heart; and now, as his sullen men 
went tramping out, obedient to com 
mand, he added, in a growling, non-offi 
cial undertone: 

“ An’ ye’ll hold yer tongues, ye brawl 
[ 76 ] 









THE L1TTLEST REBEL 

in’ ijjits, or I’ll be after kickin' the 
breeches off ye! ” 

They mounted and rode a rod or two 
away, awaiting orders; while Lieutenant- 
Colonel Morrison stood silently and 
watched them go. He, too—like Virgie 
—had wrestled with a problem, and it 
stirred him to the depths. As a trooper 
must obey, so also must an officer obey 
a higher will; yes, even as a slave in iron 
manacles. The master of war had made 
his laws; and a servant broke them, 
knowingly. A captured scout was a pris¬ 
oner, no more; a spy must hang, or fall 
before the volley of a firing squad. No 
matter for his bravery; no matter for the 
faithful service to his cause, the man must 
die! The glory was for another; for one 
who waved a flag on the spine of a bloody 
trench; a trench which his brothers^ 
stormed—and gave the blood. No mat¬ 
ter that a spy had made this triumph 
[ 77 ] 











THE LITTLEST REBEL 


possible. He had worn a uniform which 
was not his own^-and the dog must die! 

So ruled the god of warfare; still, did 
war prescribe disgrace and death for all? 
If Cary had crept through the Union 
lines, to reach the side of a helpless lit¬ 
tle one— yes, even in a coat of blue — 
would the Great Tribunal count his deed 
accursed? Should fearless human love 
reap no reward beyond the crashing epi¬ 
taph of a firing squad, and the powder 
smoke that drifted with the passing of a 
soul? 

“No! No!” breathed Morrison. “In 
God’s name, give the man his chance! ” 

He straightened his back and smiled. 
He took from the table a rumpled paper 
and turned to the littlest factor in the 
great Rebellion. 

“Here, Virgie! Here’s your pass to 
Richmond—for you and your escort— 
through the Federal lines.” 

[78] 


















THE LITTLEST REBEL 

She came to him slowly, wondering; 
her tiny body quivering with suppressed 
excitement, her voice a whispering 
caress: 

“ Do you mean for—for Daddy, too? ” 

“ Yes, you little rebel! ” he answered, 
choking as he laughed; “ but I’m terri¬ 
bly afraid you’ll have to pay me—with 
a kiss.” 

She sprang into his waiting arms, and 
kissed him as he raised her up; but 
when he would have set her down, her 
little brown hands, with their berry- 
stained fingers, clung tightly about his 
neck. 

“ Wait! Wait! ” she cried. “ Here’s 
another one—for Gertrude! Tell her it’s 
from Virgie! An’ tell her I sent it, ’cause 
her Daddy is jus’ the best damn Yankee 
that ever was! ” 

The trap above had opened, and the 
head and shoulders of the Southerner ap- 
[ 79 ] 


F©. 














In the cabin’s doorway stood Virgie* 
and her father, hand in hand. They 
[ 80 ] 




THE LITTLEST REBEL 

peared; while Morrison looked up and 
spoke in parting: 

“ It’s all right, Cary. I only ask a 
soldier’s pledge that you take your little 
girl to Richmond—nothing more. In 
passing through our lines, whatever you 
see or hear— forget!” 

A sacred trust it was, of man to man, 
one brother to another; and Morrison 
knew that Herbert Cary would pass 
through the very center of the Federal 
lines, as a father, not a spy. 

The Southerner tried to speak his 
gratitude, but the words refused to come; 
so he stretched one trembling hand to¬ 
ward his enemy of war, and eased his 
heart in a sobbing, broken call: 

“Morrison! Some day it will all — 
he over!” 














THE LITTLEST REBEL 

watched a lonely swallow as it dipped 
across the desolate, unfurrowed field. 
They listened to the distant beat of many 
hoofs on the river road, and the far, faint 
clink of sabers on the riders’ thighs; and 
when the sounds were lost to the listen¬ 
ers at last, the notes of a bugle came 
whispering back to them, floating, dip¬ 
ping, even as the swallow dipped across 
the unfurrowed fields. 

But still the two stood lingering in the 
doorway, hand in hand. The muddy 
James took up his murmuring song 
again; the locusts chanted in the 
hot brown woods, to the basso growl 
of the big black guns far down the 
river. 

A sad, sad song it was; yet on its 
echoes seemed to ride a haunting, hope¬ 
ful memory of the rebel’s broken call, 
“ Some day it will all be over! ” 

And so the guns growled on, slow, sul- 
[ 81 ] 















THE LITTLEST REBEL 

len, thundering forth the battle-call of a 
still unconquered enmity; but only that 
peace might walk “ some day ” in the 
path of the shrieking shells. 













PEACE 


Hushed is the rolling- drum. The bugle’s note 
Breathes but an echo of its martial blast; 
The proud old flags, in mourning silence, float 
Above the heroes of a buried past. 

Frail ivy vines ’round rusting cannon creep; 

The tattered pennants droop against the wall; 
The war-worn warriors are sunk in sleep, 
Beyond a summons of the trumpet’s call. 

Do ye still dream, ye voiceless, slumbering ones, 
Of glories gained through struggles fierce and 
long, 

Lulled by the muffled boom of ghostly guns 
That weave the music of a battle-song? 

In fitful flight do misty visions reel, 

While restless chargers toss their bridle-reins? 
When down the lines gleam points of polished 
steel, 

And phantom columns flood the sun-lit plains? 

A breathless hush! A shout that mounts on high 
Till every hoary hill from sleep awakes! 

Swift as the unleashed lightning cleaves the sky. 
The tumbling, tempest-rush of battle breaks! 

















THE LITTLEST REBEL 


The smoke-wreathed cannon launch their hell¬ 
winged shells! 

The rattling crash of musketry’s sharp sound 
Sinks in the deafening din of hoarse, wild yells 
And squadrons charging o’er the trampled 
ground! 

Down, down they rush! The cursing riders reel 
’Neath tearing shot and savage bayonet-thrust; 
A plunging charger stamps with iron heel 
His dying master in the battle’s dust. 

The shrill-tongued notes of victory awake! 

The black guns thunder back the shout amain! 
In crimson-crested waves the columns break, 
Like shattered foam, across the shell-swept 
plain. 

A still form lies upon the death-crowned hill. 
With sightless eyes, gray lips that may not 
speak. 

His dead hand holds his shot-torn banner still—■ 
Its proud folds pressed against his bloodstained 
cheek. 

O, slumbering heroes, cease to dream of war! 

Let hatreds die behind the tread of years. 
Forget the past, like some long-vanished scar 
Whose smart is healed in drops of falling tears. 

[ 84 ] 


























Keep, keep your glory; but forget the strife! 

Roll up your battle-flags so stained and torn! 
Teach, teach our hearts, that still dream on in 
life, 

To let the dead past sleep with those we mourn! 





From pitying Heaven a pitying angel came. 

Smiling, she bade the tongues of conflict cease. 
Her wide wings fanned away the smoke and flame. 
Hushed the red battle’s roar. God called her 
Peace. 

From land and sea she swept mad passion’s glow; 

Yet left a laurel for the hero’s fame. 

She whispered hope to hearts in grief bowed low, 
And taught our lips, in love, to shape her name. 


She sheathed the dripping sword; her soft hands 
pres’t 

Grim foes apart, who scowled in anger deep. 
She laid two grand old standards down to rest, 
And on her breast rocked weary War to sleep. 
Peace spreads her pinions wide from South to 
North; 

Dead enmity within the grave is laid. 

The church towers ring their holy anthems forth,. 
To hush the thunders of the cannonade. 


Edward Peple. 


[ 85 ] 























SEP I 


One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



SEP 13 









0005071?17A 








